


I Wanna Dance With Somebody

by CASpider



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Bar, Coming Out, Crying, Cute Ending, Dancing, F/F, Feels, Holtzbert - Freeform, Smooching, come here often, firehouse, getting frisky, not yet explicit, so far suggestive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7781920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CASpider/pseuds/CASpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What am I doing? My mind shrieked. Why was I returning her flirtations? She’s a professional colleague, she’s a housemate, she’s not my type, and… Holtzmann kept her eyes glued to the headrest in front of her, and I took the opportunity to sneak a glance at her. Despite the layers she was sporting, I could still make out the silhouette of her figure. Yeah, I thought. She’s a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey, Red

I was super drunk. I shouldn't have encouraged her, but there I was, drunk and really excited that the bar owner recognized us and let us all drink free. Except Kevin. I thought it was odd at the time, but then I started to think,  _ Maybe it's just ladies night. _ Yeah, it was probably just ladies night.

I couldn't look away from Holtzmann's moves. She moved totally erratically and gesticulated wildly.

A huge, hunky blond took up a seat next to me at the bar. “Hi, Erin,” he said in that unbearably delectable Australian accent. 

“Hi, Kevin,” I replied. My heart rate skyrocketed as my usual ineptitude with people of the gentlemanly persuasion reared its ugly head. 

Kevin set down the beer menu he had come over with. 

“Ah,” I giggled a little. “See anything you like?” I turned a little and brought my elbows closer together, hoping a flash of cleavage would finally push him over the edge and make him realize I was flirting with him.

“Yeah, this arts and crafts foreign thing sounds like it would be quite nice,” he said, tapping a beefy finger on the menu.

I shifted my position. That one didn't work too well. Maybe it was too subtle? 

“Like, a craft beer? An import?” I asked him to clarify.

“Yeah, totally,” he noncommittally mumbled as he flagged down the bartender.

I looked over to the dance floor again. What was Holtzmann doing? It was like she was trying to get a spider out of her pants.

I turned back to Kevin who was taking his beer from the bartender.

“Ah! So what’d you get?”

He looked at the bottle and read “Uh, Coroner.”

“Oh. that’s an interesting name. Those microbreweries sure get creati-”

He turned the bottle to show me. I recognized the crown on the Mexican beer and bit my tongue. “Ah. Well, enjoy it.” I raised my rum and coke to him to clink glasses, but he took a big swig, and before I had even retracted my glass, a spray of semi-warm beer greeted my face.

“Eurgh,” Kevin gagged. “I hate beer.”

As he stepped away from the bar, I berated myself for not seeing that coming. I downed the last half of my drink before trying to dry my eyes on the back of my hands. When I opened my eyes, I recognized the streaks of mascara the wiping motion left. I groaned and attempted to rub away as much of the raccoony cosmetic as possible.

A familiar drum beat started pumping through the speakers of the bar, and I paused to think and identify the song.  _ Oh no _ , I thought. I know what this is. I turned to see how Holtzmann would react to the song without her various tools around her. As I swivelled on the barstool, I was shocked to find that her face was already within inches of my own. She waggled her eyebrows at me and dramatically offered me a hand. 

I would like to remind you I was drunk. Probably not as drunk as I wished I had been, but still drunk enough to encourage something I didn’t even think about following up on.

It seemed like dancing with a partner involved fewer unpredictable moves for Holtzmann. Without a soldering iron in her hand, her moves, while occasionally outdated, were really impressive.

“You sure smell an awful lot like beer and male saliva,” Holtzmann shouted over the music.

I lost my footing. Stuttering, I asked, “You can… smell saliva? And determine the gender of the...”

“Naah, I just saw Kevin spew all over you.” She flashed a tricksy grin and grabbed my hands. She caught me off guard when she twirled me around, never taking her eyes off me. She was an effortless leader. She guided me through spins, turns, and some pattern of footwork pretending to be salsa, and I found myself following her patterns pretty well.

As the strains of the Rhythm faded out, she gave me one last twirl and dipped me low. It felt like my heart was in my throat when, once again, her face was immediately close to mine. “Hey, Red.” She spoke in a low voice and peered into my eyes through her tinted yellow lenses. I felt a knot in my stomach - as if my insides had been tied to her. “Wanna come back to my place?”

The enchantment held for a few seconds. I felt my heart flutter and my lips mumble an assured “Yes,” before I realized what she had asked. “I mean, uh… yeah, but.” My mouth went dry. “Well, your place is my place, so I'd be going back to, uh...” I realized how hard my fingers were clutching her vest over her shoulder blades. “Yes,” I confirmed with conviction. She returned me to an upright position and bit her lower lip before finally breaking her gaze. She took my hand and strode back to the bar where she grabbed our coats and tossed a crumpled ten dollar bill on the bar. The bartender confusedly tried to give it back, mumbling something about drinking free, but Holtzmann and I were already halfway across the room. “Just the tip,” she yelled back.

 

My adrenaline was high, and I cackled and snorted all the way out to the sidewalk, where Holtzmann used the hand that was not firmly grasping mine to flag down a taxi. 

Although I felt significantly less drunk than I had been going onto the dancefloor, I still had the feeling like my judgement had evaporated from my body with the sweat of dancing. 

As the taxi rolled up, I was struck by something. “Wait…. Did you call me Red?” I caught a glance of my orange-almost-ginger hair in my reflection on the cab window.

She opened the door for me. “Yeah. I thought it would be a little less offensive than Garf.”

I felt my mouth drop open as she ushered me into the cab. She put her arm around the headrest of my seat and sat with her legs crossed, sprawling across most of the backseat. As the taxi sped off, I gently, nonchalantly, placed a hand on her knee. She swallowed hard, and I felt her fingers drum the back of the headrest as she tried to keep cool. 

_ What am I doing? _ My mind shrieked. Why was I returning her flirtations?  _ She’s a professional colleague, she’s a housemate, she’s not my type, and… _ Holtzmann kept her eyes glued to the headrest in front of her, and I took the opportunity to sneak a glance at her. Despite the layers she was sporting, I could still make out the silhouette of her figure.  _ Yeah _ , I thought.  _ She’s a woman. _ I saw her shift in her seat and tug at the silk scarf tucked into her buttondown like an ascot. Those layers were getting to her. I had to get back at her for the comment about my hair, and I knew I could make her squirm.

I turned my hand so it rested parallel with her leg. I ran the tips of my fingers over her knee, drawing little swirls and squiggles. She remained frozen, except for her increasingly heavy breathing. As my fingers inched up her thigh, her chest rose and fell more and more rapidly. I crawled my fingers back down toward her knee, and she sighed with relief, but the rate of her breaths picked up again as I traced lazy lines from the inside of her knee to the outside and back, slowly creeping upward again. I could see how white her knuckles were from grasping the handle inside the door of the cab, and I could hear her fingers drumming the headrest again. Back and forth, up and down, I stroked [ley] lines along her thigh, slowly reaching higher and higher. I could feel through the fabric of her trousers where the pocket lay inside. She swallowed hard again, and though I couldn’t see her eyes through the protective sides of her safety glasses, I know they were peeled wide. I set my whole palm on her lap and watched her chest heaving. I let my hand slide to the inside of her thigh until I was startled by a loud noise.

The cab driver jumped and swore, then swore at the other drivers for swearing at him. It took a second for me to realize that the noise that sounded like a bull seal being sat on came from Holtzmann. Her eyes were glued forward, and a grimace cemented itself on her face. I let my arms and shoulders relax after the startle, and Holtzmann slowly uncrossed her legs and planted both booted feet surely on the dirty mat of the cab floor.


	2. Hush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is it something you want?”
> 
> There was no hesitation when she responded, “Yes.” She swallowed hard. “Is this something that you want?”
> 
> I bit my lip. My heart was clawing its way out of my chest, and I struggled to fight the urge to scream, Oh god, yes. Desperately. Please. I bit my tongue and nodded. My lips were still tingling from the contact, or maybe the hyperventilation.

The cab came to a stop, and Holtzmann leapt from the taxi and made it halfway to the door of the remodelled hook and ladder station before turning on her heel and offering me a hand out of the cab. She still wore a pained expression, her mouth clamped into a tight line. She held my hand and opened the door for me. The firehouse was silent. As we passed up the stairs, I noticed the others’ jackets had been hung up (or, in Kevin’s case, thrown on the floor), so it was clear they had made it home. It was strange, though. It was only about midnight. There was almost always some kind of activity - chatter over late-late dinner, music playing, a TV on where someone had fallen asleep in front of it, or even just a few lights on. It felt weird sneaking around in the dark, but I was ready to neither lie to my team nor explain why Holtz and I were sneaking around.

She led me up the stairs, heading to the second floor she had claimed. I tugged her up another flight of stairs, however, to the third floor, where my room was.

“What are you doing?” she muttered.

I pulled at the hem of my sweater, showing the now-dry spots of beer dotting my outfit. 

“Ah,” she nodded and waved me onward.

When we all moved into the firehouse, Patty and I split the top floor. With the financial assistance of the Mayor behind us, we were able to renovate the old building into a really neat space that took care of both our residential and professional needs. 

Holtzmann and I snuck past the door to Patty’s quarters. I could hear Patty’s white noise machine; despite the night’s clear skies, the sound of pounding rain leaked through the door as we tiptoed past.

In through the door of my quarters we went, and I hung my jacket on the back of the chair in the corner. The tiny room was dominated by my queen-sized bed, vanity dresser, and office desk. The desk was overflowing with papers, notes, books, and notebooks. My bed was unmade. I hurried to the cluttered vanity to inconspicuously tidy it up while I took off my makeup. As I passed the cold makeup wipe over my face, I felt an arm slung around my waist. 

“So how did you know?” Holtzmann squeezed my hip.

“How did I know what?” 

“I mean, when did you figure it out?”

I was so confused. “What? Figure what out?”

Holtzmann was silent for a moment. “Maybe you haven’t yet.”

I felt a creeping anxiety, suddenly worried about my behavior. I was leading Holtzmann on. I never intended for anything to actually happen. I was having fun, and then suddenly, I wasn’t. 

“Holtzmann, I-”

She silenced me with a finger pressed to my lips. She gently pulled the wipe from my hand and took a moment to collect her thoughts. She carefully wiped my face as slowly, choppily, she began, “Even as a child, I was very interested in cause and effect, trial and error, empirical evidence, and the scientific method, and the day I learned that kissing was what boys and girls do together, I immediately found one of the neighborhood boys I grew up with and very deliberately, uh, kissed him, um, on the mouth, and neither of us liked it, and he wiped his mouth out on his sleeve, and I was just, ah…” She flexed her jaw. “Disappointed. It wasn’t what they advertised in the movies, I’ll tell ya that much. Close, please.” I shut my eyes and she gently rubbed away the liner and shadow I was wearing. “I started making all my toys kiss. Dolls, stuffed animals, even my Tonka trucks, and it wasn’t until my sister stole my Ken doll for a diorama that I even thought to break the boy-girl pattern. I don't think anyone else has cried while smashing Barbie and Skipper’s faces together, but I did. Open.” She looked carefully at my eyes and sighed before starting on my forehead.  “I started looking for what I called, ah, 'matched sets’ everywhere. I saw none, and I felt terribly alone. I kept it to myself for so long, and when I thought I had found someone trustworthy to tell, she told her mom, and her mom told my mom, and-- Do you fill in your eyebrows?”

“I-- yeah,” I muttered. I use a, um…” I cringed. “A red-orange lip liner. It’s the only thing that’ll-”

“Match.” Holtzmann stepped back to admire her work. “Yeah, I could see that.” She rubbed the cloth against the grain of my brows before smoothing the hairs back down. She took a deep breath and started again. “Our mothers had a long talk that ended in her mom screaming at my mom about me staying away from her kid. Look up, please.” I did, and she painstakingly cleaned up the raccoony mess under my eyes. “Of course, I was devastated, but my mother sat me down and talked with me about my feelings, and my identity, and everything that makes a person special, and then I stopped trying to fit in, and I felt better than I ever had. It’s hard to lose friends when you don’t have any.” She shifted her fingertip again to a clean section of the wipe. “Is it okay if I do your lips?”

I nodded, unsure of what to say in such an emotionally intense moment.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmlet’s go over there. I’d like a little more light.” She squinted and nodded over to the bed, which was well-illuminated by the wall lamp.

I sat down cautiously, and Holtzmann took up a spot next to me. “Open, please.” She tenderly dabbed at my lipstick, peering at my lips from behind yellow lenses. “I stopped trying to fit in, and I stopped doing what I thought other people thought I should do, and I started doing only things that I enjoyed, which included outdoing the boys academically, nurturing my creativity, and developing my own sense of style.” She took one more look over my face. Finding it satisfactorily free of makeup, she wadded up the wipe and tossed it at the garbage can a few feet away. It fell about a foot short. She squinted and jutted out her jaw, running her tongue over her teeth. “The things I enjoyed did not, however, include any ball-related athletics.” She sighed deeply. “It was just as lonely, but I felt a lot better with myself.” She paused and turned to look deeply into my eyes. “So, when did you figure it out?”

I could feel my heart rate creeping up again. “Holtzmann, I never -- I mean, I don’t think I-” 

“You don’t think you’re into women?” She laughed in disbelief. “Erin, look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never even thought about how nice it would be to get involved with a woman.”

I shifted on the edge of the bed uncomfortably. “I mean, I've thought about it, but not in any serious way.” I had to take a deep breath before admitting something I hadn’t told anyone - not my parents, not my therapist, not even Abby. “I have always refused to admit that I might even vaguely have an interest in girls. Like, I've dated before. I've been in pretty serious relationships, and they were all with guys. I figured that was what was right for me. I refused to even entertain the notion of liking girls. If I had told anyone, they would have…” I swallowed hard. “They would have thought it was just another thing I was saying to get attention.”

Holtzmann had been pretty light-hearted when I spoke about my ostracization after the story of my nightly experience with the ghost got out, but now when I looked over, there were silent tears beginning to stream down her face.

I was suddenly terrified that I had said the wrong thing or hurt her feelings. “Oh my god. Holtzmann, are you okay?”

She leaned over and gave me the warmest, closest hug I’ve ever gotten, and I could feel her warm tears on my neck. She cradled my head in one hand and whispered, “Don’t ever be afraid to be yourself.” I felt my own eyes welling up and suddenly all the fear and shame of decades of denial bubbled to the surface. I gulped for air, trying to fight back the tears, but I knew it was time to let go. The dam broke, and I let the tide take me, the sobs wracking my body as the tears flowed. We held each other and silently sobbed, grasping, tightening our grips, feeling each other’s shaking form. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me in the high school hallways. I could hear my therapist’s attempt to hide his scorn at my conviction. I could feel the tears of shame and fear and self-loathing on my cheeks - but now, they weren’t just mine.

Holtzmann took my face in her hands and pressed her forehead to mine. “I gave up caring so long ago,” she whispered, “but I will never forget what it feels like. To be so confused, and ashamed, and… lonely.” I felt a new wave of sobs, and she brushed her thumbs across my cheeks. “I will never forget. And I am so sorry you had to go through it. And for so long.” She pulled away for a moment to remove her glasses and wipe her eyes on her sleeve. Slipping the glasses onto the top of her head, she turned back and I reached out - slowly, tenderly - to touch her cheek. She put her hand on top of mine and gazed deeply into my eyes. Without the yellow lenses, I could see so clearly the stunning blue of her irises and the soft glistening of the droplets still clinging to her eyelashes. 

A new sensation washed over me. Is this what release felt like? “Holtzmann--” I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was so scared, and I could still feel the resistance and denial built up over so many years. She brought her lips closer to mine and hesitated. 

“Please,” I whispered.

She tenderly kissed me. Her lips were warm and soft. She pulled away and I let out the sigh building in my lungs. She kissed me again, more firmly. Her lips were a little chapped, but I could not have imagined any texture more pleasing. I pulled away - gasping, panting. It was like I had forgotten how good kissing was. It was novel in the way my first kiss in high school was, but there was surprise mixed in with the ecstatic tension. I could have cried for days, but I didn't focus on the relief I was experiencing. All I could think about was the feeling that all of me was on fire.

I wove my fingers into her hair, holding tight and pulling her harder against me. As I pressed my lips against hers harder, I felt her tongue brush my lip.  _ I’m frenching a girl. I'm frenching a girl. I'm frenching a girl. _ My tongue probed her mouth, flicking against her teeth.  _ I'm frenching a girl. I'm frenching--  _ Her hand slipped ever so slightly under my shirt, found my hip, and squeezed. As lightning shot through my body, I arched my back, pressing myself harder against her, and she growled in delight in my ear. I let loose a moan so loud that she giggled and shushed me. 

She bumped me with her chest, pressing me down against the bed. Untangling my fingers from her hair, she held my wrists over my head and teased my lips with her tongue. With the angle of my shoulders and the way her chest pinned me down, I could only barely reach her lips with mine, and she chuckled low at my struggling. Finally, she crossed my wrists and held them in one hand as the other found the side of my neck. Her thumb wrapped around to my throat, gently caressing the crest of my hyoid bone. I gulped hard under her thumb, and I could feel her diaphragm contracting in another silent laugh.

“H-h--” the pressure on my throat was negligible, but in my effort to hold in the wild moaning I would have otherwise been making, I had trouble choking out her name.

Her hands flew off of me, and she clasped them to her chest before she stood up to the side of the bed. “God, Erin, I'm so-- so sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Holtzmann, everything's fi-”

“Erin I'm so sorry, I-- oh god, Erin.”

“Holtz, everything's fine. You didn't hurt me. That was...” I gulped, “I really liked that.”

As she stared at me, her head slowly tilted in wonder. “Erin,” she whispered. I reached out to her but she backed up, obviously agitated.

“God, Erin, I'm so sorry.” She paced, putting one hand on her hip and waving the other about. “I know this is kind of a weird place for you to be, and I just-- I'm sorry I came on so hard, so quick.”

“No, no, Holtz, I really-” I stammered, trying to get my enthusiasm across.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Erin.” I quieted down.

“I want to get you on your feet before I get you on your back, yeah?”

My jaw hung open. She wrung her hands before clasping them behind her back uncomfortably.

“This has got to be terrifyingly new territory for you. I'm sure you must feel-- extremely vulnerable.” She straightened the silk scarf knotted around her neck. “I don't want to take advantage of that. Or you, in general.”  _ If this is what being with women is like _ , I thought,  _ I regret every single hetero relationship of my life _ .

She shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond to my stunned silence. “I just want to make sure this is something both of us really want.”

I shut my mouth, running my dry tongue over my teeth. “Is it something you want?”

There was no hesitation when she responded, “Yes.” She swallowed hard. “Is this something that  _ you _ want?”

I bit my lip. My heart was clawing its way out of my chest, and I struggled to fight the urge to scream,  _ Oh god, yes. Desperately. Please. _ I bit my tongue and nodded. My lips were still tingling from the contact, or maybe the hyperventilation.

Holtzmann sniffled. Nodding in return, she returned her glasses to her face and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Cool.” She stared at the ground, and I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. Chuckling, she bowed a little and spread her arms. “Then I suppose I ought to let you get some rest after that.”

She turned to leave, and I called after her. She turned around and leaned against the doorframe. “Hey, if you…. Feel like it,” I stumbled over my words, and licked my lips to collect myself. “You can sleep here tonight.” I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I mean, if you want.”

I could see the tension in her shoulders relax, and she nodded. She slowly returned to sit on the edge of my bed, and she began to take her boots off. I scooted over to join her and kissed her cheek before slipping off my sneakers. Her fair skin turned beet red from ear to ear. 

I grabbed a pair of oversized t-shirts from my dresser and handed one to Holtzmann. “Is this gonna be okay for pajamas?” I asked nervously.

“It’s perfect.” She gazed into my eyes as I handed her the shirt, and as she took it, our fingers brushed together. Her slowly-paling face flushed again, and despite her attempt to stay straight-faced, I could see the smile breaking at the corners of her mouth.

I stifled a giggle. “I’ve gotta go shower, but I’ll be back soon. Help yourself to whatever you need to get ready for bed.”

Oh, god. That sounded so domestic. She winked and gave me the finger guns, and I put my hand over my mouth to stop the cackle threatening to erupt.   
  


 

When I returned from my shower, Holtzmann was laying on her stomach, her chin in her hands, reading an issue of the  _ Journal of Parapsychology _ . I walked past the chair upon which she had neatly folded her clothes, and I dumped my beer-drenched clothes in my hamper and did a double take. Why did she look so different? She wasn’t sporting yellow lenses, true. She was only wearing one layer, and her legs were bare - yes. But neither of those explained why she looked so different. Was she… shorter? As she turned a page of the academic journal, I saw the back of her head and realized what was different: she had brushed her hair out. The French braid that draped down the back of her neck was elegant, albeit frizzy and somewhat stiff from all the hairspray. She looked a little embarrassed as I gawked at the dramatic change.

“Holtzmann…. That’s….”

“Poorly executed.”

“What? No, no way! It's so…”

“Absurd?”

“N-no, not really-”

“Disquieting?”

“No, Holtz. It’s beautiful.”

She blinked at me a few times. “Thanks.”

She scooted over on the bed to let me in. Lying on her side, she lifted the covers for me to join her. I slipped in and turned to her, lying across from her. We held each other’s gaze and grasped hands for a few moments before Holtzmann winked at me and closed her eyes. I took one more look at her - her frame small inside a too-big shirt, her braid hanging over her shoulder, her soft legs brushing up against my own. I pulled the covers over us and squeezed her hands before closing my eyes.

“Hey, Erin?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t smell like beer anymore.”

I chuckled. “Thanks...?”

“You still smell like saliva, though.”

My eyes snapped open. “What?” I hissed. “Like… male saliva?”

“No.” She scooted towards me and kissed my nose. “Mine.”

  
My breath caught in my throat and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. By the time I had figured it out, though, Holtzmann was breathing slow and even, out cold.


End file.
